


Home Is Too Far Flown From Me

by corngold



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7333570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corngold/pseuds/corngold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Flash has all the time in the world, really.  His nemesis snatches his younger self and is gone, and Thawne stands there in the room, empty but for the sobbing woman on the floor, the frightened man at the door, and feels—everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Too Far Flown From Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Home Is Too Far Flown From Me 漫漫歸途](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875580) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)



> I blame [The Autotheist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAutotheist); she started it.

Eobard Thawne travels back in time to kill Barry Allen. 

The potential paradox doesn’t worry him—he knows what he’s doing. The possibility that this will bring him a little peace, after all this time, is worth the risk. He’s changing the future, sure he is, but it’ll work, and it’ll be for the better. He knows what he’s doing. Nothing can go wrong.

It doesn’t take him long to find the right house—an ancient, rickety thing built of wood, furnished with woven rugs and plush chairs, absurdly flammable, what were these ancients thinking?—but it takes long enough. By the time he’s stepping into the living room, the Flash has caught up with him.

A woman—Mrs Allen, presumably—sits in the middle of the room and screams as Thawne tries again and again to outrun the Flash. To pull ahead of him even for a moment, slow him down just enough to climb the stairs, track the kid down, wipe him from existence, rid himself of his nemesis once and for all. The nemesis who is even now throwing him across the room into a wall, and then leaping after him, fist raised.

He doesn’t believe the Flash can stop him, try though he does. Thawne is faster, always has been, driven by hate, by disappointed hope. There’s no way the Flash will find an opening.

Then he hears the kid—drawn to the fight by the noise—and he turns toward him in triumph—

And staggers to a halt as he meets wide, iron-blue eyes. The space between them stretches and closes. The universe slams through his chest like a bolt of lightning. The speedforce sings.

The Flash has all the time in the world, really. His nemesis snatches his younger self and is gone, and Thawne stands there in the room, empty but for the sobbing woman on the floor, the frightened man at the door, and feels—everything. Everything. 

Everything.

He couldn’t have foreseen this. It shouldn’t have happened. There is nothing between the Flash and his Reverse but enmity. _Nothing._ They’ve fought for _years_ of Thawne’s life, and through all those _years_ there has been _nothing_. He can hear, can _feel_ the speedforce laughing at him. Mocking. Rage builds up behind his eyes.

~*~

It’s not as though he hasn’t seen Barry in the intervening fifteen years. Whatever else he is, or has become, the kid’s his ticket home. He’s an investment, and Thawne—Wells, now: eyes paler blue than Barry’s, whip-thin and wiry, sadly confined to a wheelchair by the recent tragic accident at STAR Labs—protects his investments. He’s checked in on Barry’s progress from afar, more than once. Even received and answered a fan letter from him once. It had been penned by hand and glowed with hopes and dreams, excitement and awe. Barry has ‘always been interested in science,’ the letter had said, ‘and Dr Wells is a personal hero of his.’

The irony is so thick Thawne could cut it with a knife. 

Barry’s been working in forensics with the CCPD. Had been working in his lab the night Harrison Wells had turned on the accelerator. Had been at the hospital only a few weeks before Thawne convinced his foster father to move him to STAR Labs for more competent treatment. For nine months that means having Joe and Iris West hovering around Barry’s bedside more often than not, but that’s no trouble. There’s nothing to do until he wakes up. 

And Thawne knows he’ll wake up. The Wests think his confidence is human kindness, his protégées think it is scientific determination. He knows it for simple, factual knowledge. Thawne sits in his wheelchair, chin resting on his fist, and watches Barry breathe. Feels the connection between them flicker, tug. Barry will wake up soon.

~*~

What he doesn’t know is how Barry will react when he does. 

Thawne had known the feeling for what it was the moment it had hit him, an eleven-year old, pyjama-clad child before him and murder in his blood. Yes, it had enraged him senseless. His answer to it had been a knife from the kitchen through Mrs Allen’s heart. But he’s had fifteen years to come to terms with it.

Or at least, to control it.

The question is, had the eleven-year old, pyjama-clad child recognised the feeling for what it was? Does Barry know that the man who killed his mother is a soulmate? When he opens his eyes and sees Harrison Wells, will he feel the tug? How many of Thawne’s secrets are going to be dragged into the light—not because he’s made a mistake, but through his simple, infuriatingly bad luck?

Thawne isn’t around when Barry does finally open his eyes. He gets the call from Cisco, whose voice is so alive with excitement that Thawne physically flinches. By the time he’s wheeled down to the med lab his heartbeat is calm and his expression as pleasant as he can make it. 

And there’s Barry Allen.

The rush of _connection_ hits him instantly, so much stronger now the kid is awake. It hits him right along with the old rush of hate, and he struggles to stamp them down, regain his balance. It’s difficult to keep from standing up out of his wheelchair, stepping up to Barry and— He doesn’t know what. They fit together, he knows it—they _fit_ , they _would fit_ , if he were only to reach out a hand and let them.

He absolutely will not. He can feel the glow of the speedforce, building in the small net he keeps on the underside of his chair. He’d planned to use it to get home, collect enough to return his speed to him for good. It’s humming now, and he taps into it with regret. Wraps it into a shield, sets the shield between them. 

He can still feel the connection leading him to Barry, but with any luck, Barry won’t be able to follow it back.

Barry asks how long he’s been asleep, and Thawne answers him. Barry turns. His eyes light, and Thawne holds his breath, but there is no answering connection. Barry sees only his childhood hero. Thawne can’t be sure it’ll hold, not yet, but it appears promising.

Somehow, some mad part of him is—disappointed.

He turns the wheelchair away and he can feel it laughing at him: the speedforce. It hates to be manipulated. And though he’d known what he was doing fourteen years ago, though he knows what he’s doing _right now_ , has a plan, has kept the timeline intact, it has managed to revenge itself upon him even so.


End file.
